


That Selkirk Woman

by the_rogue_bitch



Series: The Selkirk Grace [1]
Category: Lonesome Dove: The Outlaw Years
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Call bumbles his way through feels what are those, Call goes to a murder, Confessions, F/M, Feels, Sexual Content, grim grimy Call goes to a funeral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 01:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2251383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_rogue_bitch/pseuds/the_rogue_bitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Running after you<br/>I don't know where you are<br/>And I can't seem to get you<br/>I want you to know me. -- Days of the New, "Weapon and the Wound"</p><p>***</p><p>Major revisions as of 12/10 because Writing Group. bless you guys, you make me better in every way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Selkirk Woman

People said it wasn’t safe for a woman to live alone. I was raised to not give too much of a damn for what folks'll say -- my parents saw to that. They came out to the territory from fine homes in large cities back East. They built their farm and raised five children to adulthood, me being the last. My brothers and sisters had grown up and gone their ways, but I had stayed.  
My parents schooled me at home, both formal education along with farming, hunting, and trapping. I had refused to be sent to school back East to be “finished” like my sisters. I couldn't leave the farm. I loved it too much.

The fever that took my parents and killed them spared me.

My siblings tried in various ways to get me to come back East with them after the funeral. I could easily have moved with one of them to Chicago or Boston. I declined to go. They didn't love the farm and I did. They tried to convince me by warning me of the dangers a woman living alone could face. They spoke of Indians and outlaws. My sisters spoke in hushed tones of the "fate worse than death.”

I was not insensible to the prospect of danger. I kept geese penned up around the house -- there's no louder a creature than a goose when disturbed. They beat a simple watchdog anytime. Added to that was the fact that I was a better than average shot. Had to be, if I wanted to keep myself fed. 

My siblings recognized the futility of their arguments and left, finally. They sent me crates of books and magazines to help me with the solitude of the evenings and to keep me connected to the civilized world. In turn, I shipped them out good pelts and skins, and sometimes clothes I made during my long winter nights.

It made no sense for me to hunt, trap, or farm in skirts. I wore trousers and shirts, just like a man. Unless forced into a dress by my parents, I always had. I was long past the time when I worried about how I looked or who was scandalized by it. I hardly ever saw anyone anyway, and I was not a fine lady.

It wasn't my intention to stay in town long. I never did, and I never wanted to. I only had to sell what pelts I’d collected from my traps over the winter, replenish household supplies, pick up my mail, and leave. I preferred my solitude leavened with a very _small_ dose of civilization every so often.

It was a half day’s wagon ride to Curtis Wells from my plot, so I planned to stay overnight at the Lonesome Dove Hotel. I had arranged with my nearest neighbors, the Nelsens, to have one of their sons stop in and take care of my stock. They were a half-hour’s ride from the farm and more than willing to help out in exchange for some of my salves or preserves, or a promise to fetch them needed supplies from town.

I hadn't been to town in some time, so when I arrived it was a shock to see how much it had changed. Counting back in my mind I realized it'd been nearly a year since I'd been there. The difference was extreme and unsettling. I kept my rifle across my lap as I drove down the street.

Last I’d been, it had been a somewhat rough frontier town. Now Curtis Wells had slid into controlled anarchy. Deterioration of its animating spirit was evident. Storefronts that used to be clean and painted were dingy and peeling. There were gangs of idle and dirty men loitering everywhere. A tent city of whores and opium dealers gathered like mushrooms at the far end of town.

I pulled up to the exchange and traded my pelts. I drove a hard bargain and got a better price even than I expected for them. After that I stopped at the general store for sundry supplies, and then the post office where there were crates from my siblings being stored for me. I mailed out the items I'd made for them and finally stabled my horses and wagon at the livery. Then it was time to visit one of my favorite people.

I trotted up the steps of the undertaker/gun shop and slipped through the door. The bell tinkled and the woman at the counter said, "We're closed," without looking up from the book she was reading.

"Can't you sell some bullets to an old friend?" I replied. 

The woman looked up, startled, and then smiled broadly. "Aden! I didn't know you were coming!" She came around the counter and hugged me.

"Hello, Mattie. I actually do need ammunition, but you can sell it to me tomorrow, if you want."

I’d known Mattie nearly my entire life. I had met her a very long time ago when we were both girls and I had been on a family visit to Boston. When she and her father decided to move, they had stopped by my house on their way to Curtis Wells. 

The last time I'd seen her had been about six months previous, when she had come out to the farm for a few days.

"Don't be silly, of course I'll sell you the bullets. We eating at the Dove tonight? I need to catch up with you."

"Wouldn't miss it. Just close up and we'll be on our way," I replied.

Mattie was a beautiful woman, slim and strong, with clear blue eyes and fair skin. She had the determination that marked frontier women, especially ones going it alone, but she was also sensitive and a bit romantic. She was also a dead shot and better with guns than most men I'd known. I was not very much older than she was, but I wasn't nearly as pretty or dreamy. 

I was just about as good a shot, though.

Mattie put some boxes into my sack and then closed up the shop. "Let's go." 

We were a pair, two women in trousers and shirts, boots, hats and gun belts. Some of the townswomen swept their skirts out of our way and frowned at us, which I found amusing. Of all the things to be offended about in Curtis Wells, our attire was the least of them.

After we had seated ourselves in the Dove and ordered our food, I spoke up.

"What happened here?"

"So many things. I think it's mostly Mosby. He’s bought so much of the town that he thinks he actually _owns_ it. And he for sure controls the sheriff," Mattie said.

"Well, it seems civilized enough in here," I looked around the dining room, which was clean, well-lit, tasteful, and warm.

"Oh, this all belongs to Amanda," Mattie replied almost dismissively. "Mosby wants it, but he can't convince her to sell it to him, and I'm glad."

"Makes me grateful I live far away from here. Speaking of civilized, I have some books for you, if you want them," I changed the subject, since the decline and fall of Curtis Wells was a distinctly cheerless topic.

Mattie's expression brightened. "I'd sure appreciate that! What books?"

The door behind me opened and Mattie's face underwent a series of changes, from hopeful to sad to a carefully schooled expression of nonchalance.

"Evening, Mattie," a gruff male voice said.

"Evening, Call. Sit for a minute?" Mattie replied.

"Looks like you already got company," the voice responded. I saw Mattie struggling to figure out a way to get this person to join us without dropping her tough demeanor or seeming to plead. I turned in my seat.

"Oh, do please join us, at least for a drink," I said to the person in front of me.

He looked surprised. 

"I thought you was a man," he said uncomfortably.

"I'm sure it ain’t hard to make that mistake, looking at me from behind," I enjoyed his discomposure. "Please. Sit."

He sat.

"Call, this is one of my oldest and best friends, Aden Selkirk. Aden, this is Call," Mattie said.

Call looked to be around my age, but a yawning, ancient darkness already lived in his eyes. In his gaze was pain and bleakness of a sort I'd never encountered before. He had a scruffy blond beard and mustache, and a dirty face. His jacket and chaps were worn hard and stained, as was his hat. When he took it off, as custom dictated with ladies, I wished he hadn't. His hair was unkempt and greasy, though vermin-free. 

He ordered a whiskey.

"You of the Selkirk homestead?" Call asked abruptly.

"Farm. Yes, I take care of it for my family."

"What happened to Nathan and Alicia?"

"My parents died of a fever two years ago," I retorted, annoyed. "Why do you care?"

"Just curious. Not many women go it alone in the wilderness," Call replied.

"Well, I don't like towns. And I do fine where I am." 

Our eyes met. I got the sense that Call didn’t look directly at anyone often and it was startling for the both of us. I felt myself heat up. In a purely visceral reaction, my breath caught and I felt color rise in my cheeks. Call looked shocked as he flushed, shot his chair out, and stalked from the hotel. 

He forgot his whiskey, but not his hat.

Mattie looked embarrassed. "He doesn't like people much."

"He's like a wild animal," I replied, feeling the heat in me drain away. I drank his whiskey myself.

"What did you do to your hair anyway?" Mattie asked. Her hair was trimmed neatly at her jawline. 

"Oh, it got so annoying to keep up that I took my father's razor and chopped it all off. I have no one to impress," I ran my hand through it and it stood up in unruly spikes. I grinned at Mattie. "I _do_ look like a boy, don't I?"

" _Only_ from behind," she replied, laughing.

***

I was at the livery at first light, hitching my horses to the wagon. With two cows at home needing to be milked and livestock to feed, I couldn't stay away for too long. I’d only asked Lars Nelsen to stop in for the night to see to my animals. 

Curtis Wells certainly wasn’t welcoming enough for me to want to delay. 

I dropped off the crate of old books on the porch of the gun shop for Mattie and was on my way before the sun was too far above the horizon.

I pondered the conversations Mattie and I'd had the previous night. She had carefully avoided mention of Call unless I brought him up. I’d learned that he had been married and his wife had died tragically, and he blamed himself for it. I also learned that he was a bounty hunter, and prone to fisticuffs over reasoned debate.

I could see how Mattie was drawn to him, how hurt she was by his brusque avoidance of her attraction. Mattie was such a romantic. She saw herself as a ministering angel, drawing the pain out of Call through her love for him. It was clear he did not want to be ministered to, and certainly not with love.

I was drawn to Call as well, but it was not romantic. It had been a long time since I'd had a man. Why I was attracted to someone who was in so much pain that he couldn't be around people at all was just my perversity, I supposed. 

Or maybe it was that I knew he couldn't get attached to me. Attachments were messy and I liked my life the way it was. 

I'd been on the road for some time, watching the sun rise and the world come alive, when I heard hoofbeats. They weren't hurried, but they were making good time. I took out my pistol and cocked it, preferring it to the rifle in the holster by the seat.

Nothing could have surprised me more than the sight of Call, seated upon a beautiful mare, trotting alongside my wagon.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Heard a rumor of a gang of outlaws robbing outlying farms. Might want to think about turning back." Call replied in his clipped way. He was still as grubby as ever. Looking at him, I guessed he hadn't been around women much in his childhood. He'd have had more of a habit of cleanliness.

"I'm not turning back. I have livestock to tend to." 

"Your farm might not even be there anymore," Call insisted.

"Then I need to know."

We trotted along in silence, Call looking thwarted and frustrated.

"I like your horse. You obviously take good care of her, and she’s loyal to you."

Call said, "That she is."

"She have a name?"

"My father called her the Hellbitch."

"Charming. She seems pretty obedient right now."

"Had her for a long time. Long enough to know that she'll do as she pleases, and to let her. Why do you live alone anyway?" Call changed the subject abruptly.

"What business is it of yours?"

"None. Just curious. It don't seem natural."

I gave Call an incredulous look.

"Well, Mr. Call, if you find it so objectionable, you needn't concern yourself with it. I've done just fine by myself for the past two years. And I must say, you're a one to talk about living natural. Mattie told me last night you're a bounty hunter. Hunting criminals so you can drag them in to the the law is not the most _natural_ line of work."

Call stared at me angrily and our gazes met again. He recoiled away from me. Wheeling the Hellbitch around, he galloped off.

"It ain't _Mister_ Call," he shouted bitterly over his shoulder.

 _Well, **fine** , Call. Run away, then,_ I thought.

Though I did ride much more alertly the rest of the way home.

***

My farm seemed perfectly fine in its little stand of trees. My geese were undisturbed and all accounted for. I was extra careful about going into the barn and unloading. My gun was never far from my hand as I tended to the animals, feeding the chickens and geese, scratching the pigs and promising them slop later, and receiving complaints from the two cows, who badly needed to be milked.

I had to unload the wagon before I could bed the horses down. I piled everything on the porch and then took care of the horses. I milked the cows, and turned them loose with the horses in the small paddock.

The light was fading as I brought the milk pails to the porch and finally re-entered my house. I lit the candle that was kept beside the door and walked in carefully, gun at the ready.

My home was not that large for all that it had housed seven of us at one time. The downstairs had my parents' old room, the only one with walls and a door, and the kitchen and living room. There was no entryway, per se, just the porch off the front door. The back door was off the kitchen. There was a stairway into the second floor, which was split by the chimney. This helped divide the attic into the boys’ room and the girls’ room. 

After my parents died, I started using their bedroom and kept the upstairs as storage and guest quarters for if my family visited or Mattie came out. Or on the rare occasions that I offered shelter to a stranger.

I moved through my house carefully, lighting lamps as I went. I didn't see anyone, so I headed to the porch again to bring in my supplies. They were heavy, but I was used to such work and got everything in fairly quickly. I shut and latched the door when I was done.

"Damn Call and his stupid outlaws anyway," I muttered, putting milk into pans for scalding. I was too tired to cook dinner so I had some biscuits with butter, and new milk. Then I fell into bed.

***

Summer passed and I was pleased with my farming efforts. My days were soon taken up with preparations for the coming winter. I harvested and put food by in the cold cellar, chopped wood, and lay in feed for the animals. I made preserves and pickles and salted and smoked meat.

I enjoyed winters because the chance of unwelcome visitors was far less, and because I would have time to read and make new clothes, repair harnesses and the like. I could relax some and prepare for the next season.

The winter also passed eventless. There were a couple of blizzards. I read _Martin Chuzzlewit_ , _Frankenstein_ (which kept me up all night in skin-crawling terror) and _Pamela_. I made myself new shirts and pants and sheets. I did some trapping and hunting, which necessitated curing and tanning. I planned my next year’s crops. And, just as I was getting thoroughly sick of my little house and the route from the porch to the barn, spring arrived.

Once the ground had dried, I decided I should go into Curtis Wells to restock what I'd used and sell what pelts I'd collected. I also needed some seeds for planting.

Once again I hitched the horses up to the wagon and headed in. If anything, the town was more miserable than the last time I'd been there.

"Why do you even stay here?" I asked Mattie over dinner.

"I don't know what else I'd do," Mattie replied, toying with her food. "It takes guts to just pick up and go. I have a place here. And I ain’t got the guts."

"Oh, you got the guts all right, you just don't have a reason," I said. 

It seemed that she was no closer to having a romance with Call and she was deceiving herself. It was a shame, because Mattie really deserved someone in her life who could love and treasure her properly. It irked me to see her throwing herself away on someone who so clearly didn’t want anything to do with what she had to offer. But I didn’t know what I could say to get her to see that. It was something she'd have to realize on her own. Unless Call came to his senses, which seemed unlikely at best.

"You should come out and see me for a while. Sometime in the summer."

"I could use a rest, it's true." Mattie seemed tense and tired.

"This town isn't getting any better. It'll take a miracle to bring it back to what I remember. Makes me glad I stay away." I was facing the door this time, so I was in view of it as a tall dark man came in. "Who's that?" 

Mattie turned. "Oh. That's Mosby."

Mosby's glance fell on Mattie and then me. He made his way over to our table.

"Evening ladies. Mattie, you're looking well." The man had a smooth Southern accent. He had black hair, a black beard, eyes the same color as a good dark whiskey, and a strong body. Oh, yes, he was attractive, all right. He knew it, too.

"Mosby, this is my friend, Aden Selkirk." Mattie said, and I held out my hand, which he shook with grave courtesy.

“Lieutenant Colonel Clay Mosby,” he said, giving me a look that was politeness edged with flirtation. “Charmed to make your acquaintance, Miss Selkirk.”

There was something about the way Mosby acted which made me realize that I was a woman. In my daily life, it usually didn’t come up, except incidentally. But right at that moment, the female in me responded to his maleness with a vengeance. 

My hair, which had grown out during the winter, fell in unruly waves down to my earlobes. I had it tucked behind my ears instead instead of styled in any way. With Mosby's gaze upon me, I felt it as sensually tousled. I became aware of how my breasts pushed against the fabric of my shirt. I noticed that my trousers clung close to my legs and my hips.

I perceived that I was intriguing, as a woman, to someone such as Mosby, and it was a strange and powerful feeling. I liked it. I smiled up at him, not bothered in the slightest.

He looked somewhat taken aback but recovered his aplomb quickly. "Selkirk. Now, why should that name sound familiar?"

"My parents owned a farm about a half a day's ride from here," I replied, motioning him to sit.

"Oh, yes, the Selkirk homestead. A very lovely piece of land. I think I tried to purchase it some years ago."

"That was you? I remember my father talking about you. I'm surprised I didn’t recognize your name. It's still not for sale."

"Now why would you ever think that I'd want to buy it now?" Mosby put on a look of affronted dignity, which was belied by a slight humorous twinkle in his eye.

"My father said that you were a land baron with an eye for a good deal. I just wanted to make sure that you knew where I stood."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mattie watching the exchange with an amused expression. 

"Well now, since we have that matter settled, I'll leave you ladies to your meal. I look forward to seeing you again." Mosby rose to leave. "Mattie. Miss Selkirk."

We watched Mosby walk away in silence. 

"Well. My," I said.

Mattie laughed.

"He's a player, isn't he?"

"He sure is," Mattie agreed. "We're friendly, but he can be a backstabbing weaselly criminal."

"Ouch," I laughed, toasting her with my mug of coffee. "Seen Call lately?"

"He's usually gone all winter, so no." Mattie looked solemn, so I changed the subject quickly. 

"Did you read any of those books I loaned you?"

"Yes, I did! What did you think of _Wuthering Heights_?"

Our conversation lasted well into the night. As before, mention of Call was avoided unless I brought him up.

***

My return home was without incident. I was soon absorbed in the business of planting my crops again. As time went on, I began to have this unsettled feeling, as if I were being watched. My geese weren't disturbed, however, so the unknown person was keeping their distance. I was too busy to dwell on it, so I put it out of my mind.

***  
Baths were one of my biggest luxuries. Especially in the spring and summer, when I got extra dirty from planting and sweating. I took two of them: one to wash off the dirt, and the second to wallow in. I even bought special oils and bath salts and scented soaps. 

I loved my baths.

On one particular evening I watched the sun set through my open door as mounds of rose-scented bubbles floated around me. I had one candle burning and enjoyed the lengthening shadows.

I was humming to myself when I noticed the stillness. 

Stillness was different from quiet. Quiet was what you got when animals settled down naturally for the night. Stillness was what happened when an animal that was being stalked froze.

I jerked in startlement as my geese erupted into a cacophony of honking. Leaning over the edge of my tub, I picked up my gun and cocked it.

"I know you're out there," I called. "I have a gun, so you'd better show yourself."

A board on the porch creaked. The geese still made their racket. 

Then there were proper steps on the porch and a figure appeared in the doorway.

"Don't shoot. It's me, Call."

"Call!" I uncocked my gun. "What the hell do you think you're doing out there?"

"Was just checking to make sure you're all right. I'll be on my way now."

"You will not. You stay right there." I grabbed my robe and wrapped it around me as I rose from the bath.

I walked over to the door and lit a couple of lamps.

"Come in."

Call looked as if he would demur. 

"That is not a polite request, Call. Come in. Now. And close the door behind you."

Call walked in, his boots thumping on the floor.

"Sit." He sat in the chair by the fireplace. I went into the kitchen and poured some milk. "You thirsty?"

"No, ma'am," Call looked uncomfortable as I walked over and sat across from him.

"Have you been watching me?"

Call looked down silently. He seemed embarrassed.

"Well, have you?" I pressed.

"Yes," Call said reluctantly, almost sullen.

"Call, for the past month or so I've been feeling like I'm being stalked. Has that been you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because it ain't safe, a woman living alone!" Call burst out.

"Call, I lived out here alone before you even knew me. I've been able to take care of myself quite well in all that time without your guidance. In the woods back there are the graves of both my parents. I had to dig them myself. There are also the graves of three men who tried to steal my livestock. I dug those, too.”

Call cut a quick glance my way at that. 

"So you see, I don't need to be checked up on. If you want to visit with me, fine, visit. You're welcome to. But what you were doing was wrong and it made me frightened."

"Guess you can take care of yourself, then. Sorry." Call stood, stiff and formal. "I won't be bothering you again. Night." He strode outside and I heard him ride off.

I made an exasperated sound as I took off my robe and got back into the tub. Hell if I would let that irritating man spoil my bath. I didn’t know why he even cared. He barely knew me. 

I must have drifted off because next thing I knew, a tremendous clap of thunder boomed, seemingly right over the roof. I jumped up, shocked, shedding water and bubbles. Then I laughed at myself and dried off, putting on my nightgown. I dumped the tub out off the back porch and came in just as the rain sheeted down. The storm was fierce.

I didn't mind. The rain was timely and my crops were nicely established. I set my teakettle on to boil and got out a book.

There was a knock at my door.

"Oh, what now?" I groaned as I got up and opened it.

Call was on my porch, looking like a drowned rat.

"I can't get back to town in this. Can I stay in your barn?"

"Your horse can stay in the barn. You can stay in the house, if you take a bath first." I gestured. "Come in."

Call stepped over the threshold but stopped short of the rugs as a puddle formed around his boots.

"Did you stable the Hellbitch?" Call nodded. "Kind of sure of me, ain't you?" I smiled.

"Know you wouldn't want me to leave her out in this. Even if you don't like me.” Call shrugged out of his coat and hung it up by the door. "And I don't need no bath," he insisted, sounding like a peevish little boy.

"Call, you're soaked to the bone. I don't want you to become ill. I'm not the sort of woman who has the patience to nurse sick men. Furthermore, I don't want you getting my sheets all grubby," I went out to the back porch and retrieved the tub.

"Rather stay in the barn," I heard him grumble as I went out. I smirked to myself.

When I came back in, Call was sitting on the bench by the door towelling off his face.

"There's a bootjack to your left." I said, and set about filling up the tub. There was still enough water in the copper for another bath, since I always refilled it. I pulled a screen out and put it around the drawn bath.

When I turned back around, Call had his boots off and had left wet tracks on the floor from his socks as he walked past me and behind the screen. I watched his silhouette as he stripped out of his drenched clothes and draped them over the top of it.

"There's soap in a dish on the hearth," I said.

"Thanks."

I sat on the other side of the screen, staring at Call’s shadow reflected on the cloth of the screen.

"You want some tea?" 

"No." 

"Whiskey?" 

"No."

 _Well, fine, Call,_ I thought. I sat back down and reopened _Tom Jones_ at the marker.

But I couldn't concentrate. Every splash of the water against the sides of the tub (or maybe Call's skin) distracted me. I liked Call's wildness, his independence. I didn't want anyone in my life on a permanent basis, and maybe I'd find someone to settle with for good someday. 

But not right now. 

"Miss Selkirk?"

"It's Aden, Call."

"Aden. You got a towel?"

"Yes, I do. Sorry," I got a towel and hung it over the screen, where it was pulled off the top.

I stopped reading and listened to Call wash himself. I was so unused to hearing any sounds but the ones I made that it was far too distracting.

I wanted him. I wanted to do this. I wanted to lose myself in simple desire.

With Call in the room, my body was alive. Not only alive but on fire. I wanted to take the pain and flinching from feeling that lived in Call's eyes and bathe it in my hard-won peace, my self-sufficiency. I wanted to feel him close to me, take him in. My nerves strained to that shadow on the screen.

Call stood up in the tub and I heard the water pour off him. I watched his shape against the screen as he dried his hair, then his body, and then wrapped the towel around his waist. Dressed thus, he came around the screen and faced me.

"Damn," I said. "Get all that dirt off, you almost look like a person."

Call looked back at me impassively.

"Do you ever smile, or are you above humor?" I put my book down and stood up.

"Don't find much to smile about, these days," Call replied.

"It's so much easier to be angry and bitter, isn't it?" I said. Call looked at me sharply.

"What do you know about it?" 

"Oh, plenty. Enough," I didn't rise to his anger. "It's just so tiring, being angry and full of hate all the time. After my parents died, I spent a whole year in a rage. Worst year of my life. You know, nothing I did turned out right? My crops were stunted, my livestock hardly bred at all. I couldn't see the beauty in anything."

"Then what happened?" Call seemed interested in spite of himself.

"Don’t know. One morning I woke up and things seemed easier somehow. Not so dark. I began to see the point in things like planting, or singing." I looked down briefly and played with the belt on my robe, feeling shy and exposed all of a sudden.

"It was that easy?" Call sounded skeptical, verging on scornful. I looked up and saw the cynical look on his face, as if he thought I were naive or shallow for moving on from my grief. 

"Did I say that? No, it wasn't easy. It was, and is, a very long journey. A struggle. But I could see reasons to be alive for a change. I still have bad days. It's never easy, losing people you love. Especially when you lose them badly," I looked up at Call, willing him to understand how I knew him.

Call looked up at the ceiling and expelled a sigh that sounded as if it came from the deepest part of his soul.

"Look, I'm real tired. You want to talk, we can do it tomorrow."

I was obscurely hurt, but I let it go. "There're bedrooms at the top of the stairs. There should be longjohns in the trunks you can use. Your clothes will be dry by tomorrow. Sleep well."

Call turned and walked up the stairs. At the top, he turned towards me partway.

"Aden. Thanks. See you in the morning," he said, as he went into the room.

I settled the house down for the night and went to my own bed. I lay awake for a while thinking about whether I’d revealed too much to Call. He clearly didn’t believe in conversational give-and-take, and definitely didn’t want to talk about himself. Eventually, I fell asleep to the sound of the storm.

***

I awoke suddenly and then wondered why I was awake. It took me a few seconds to realize that the storm was over and it was quiet. 

A glimmer of light showed under my bedroom door.

I sat up, pushed my hair out of my eyes, and slid out of bed. I walked into the living room dressed only in my nightgown. The fire was banked low, illuminating Call, who stared into the coals. His face was obscured by his hair, which fell to a little below his jawline.

"Couldn't sleep," he said without looking up. "You gave me too much to think on."

I walked around him until I was facing him. I sat on the hearth with my feet tucked under my nightgown. This put me in a somewhat supplicatory position at his feet, but it was comfortable. I noticed, rather incongruously, that he was wearing longjohns my brother Sallust had left behind.

"I won't say I'm sorry," I said. 

Call turned his head and looked at me. In some way, his vision cleared and it seemed that he really saw me. For the first time since I'd met him, I saw Call smile. It was tiny, and a smidge sardonic, but it was there.

"What are you smiling at?"

"First time I ever seen you dressed like a woman," Call replied, managing to sound both laconic and amused.

I looked down at myself, dressed in my plain white nightgown, and smiled also. Then I looked back up at Call.

"Well, I am," I said. "A woman."

Then the air between us stretched tight. I knelt up, knowing the firelight showed the shape of my body through the gown. Call slid out of the chair and onto his knees in front of me. I could see the effect I had -- his arousal was plain.

A small part of my mind wondered what Mattie would do if she found out about this, and I pushed it away. She was so far away, and Call was right here. He wanted me, and not her.

Call reached out his hand and touched my shoulder, ran his hand down my side, lightly stroking the side of my breast, my ribs, my hip. I shivered, almost losing my balance. I put my hands on Call's waist, bunched the longjohns in my hands and pulled him to me.

Our lips met in a surprisingly gentle kiss. The slight fringe of his mustache tickled my upper lip and I stifled a giggle. Call pulled away.

"What's funny?"

"Oh, nothing. Your mustache tickled me is all," I replied.

"That so?" Call replied, humor in his voice, a strange transformation from his usual curt tone. "Like this?" He leaned forward and ran his mouth down my neck lightly, stroking me with his fringe and lips. I froze.

"How about this?" He picked up my arm and did the same on the sensitive inner skin. I snorted indelicately through my nose and then erupted into peals of laughter. Call continued to kiss me lightly on my inner arms and my throat until I was weak with laughter and desire.

"Oh, please -- stop -- no more --" I wheezed at last, giggling. Call still held my arm, his fingers lightly encircling the wrist.

"You want me to stop?" Call asked me, very serious.

I looked at him, seeing the voracious hunger in his eyes."Only the tickling."

Call used his grip on my wrist to pull me to him, and I went willingly. I pressed myself against him, my hips pushing against his. We kissed, harder and more hungrily. Call's lips were astonishingly soft and gentle on mine, though insistent. He opened my mouth underneath his and possessed it through persistence, not bullying. I felt savage and needy in comparison, biting his lower lip and clinging to him with my fingernails.  
It was so good, this connection with Call, the touching. We were both open and shameless. I held him against me as I tasted his neck, flicking my tongue across the salty skin. He fumbled with the buttons on my nightgown, butted and nuzzled each part of me that was revealed, until I was naked to the waist.

I was not about to make love on the floor in front of my fireplace, however.

I pushed Call away gently and stood up. "Come with me," I said, walking into my bedroom as I held the nightgown around my waist. My skin stung where he’d been. 

I lit the candle on the bedside table and turned back to Call, letting the nightgown fall to the floor.

Call stared at me, his mouth open, taking deep gasping breaths.

"Well?" I held out my hand. Call took it and kissed it, then walked towards me.

"You're beautiful," he said.

"Thank you," I replied. “You’re not so bad yourself.” Call glanced at me, a quick check to see if I was teasing him. I wasn't.

"Come to bed with me, Call," I said. "Please."

He slid his arm around my waist and we walked together to the bed. I sat in front of him and started unbuttoning his Union suit. As I exposed his skin, inch by inch, I lowered my face to his chest and kissed him, rubbed against his heat, immersed myself in the smell of him. Call gripped my shoulders, breathing hard.

Finally, I could slide the longjohns off him and look at all of him. "Yes," I said, and pulled him down on me. But Call wasn't trying for just a quick poke. He rolled onto his side and looked at me.

"What?"

"Just appreciating you," Call replied. He traced a finger up from my bellybutton to my chin then leaned over and kissed my breast.

"I like that kind of appreciation," I said breathlessly.

"You want more?" Call asked, voice muffled in my skin.

"Oh, yes."

"All right." Call spent an inordinate amount of time with my breasts. It felt wonderful, his mouth on me, lips and tongue and teeth teasing one small brown nipple into a tight peak, while his hand stroked the other with dexterity. I lost all sense of what precisely he was doing. I cried out and arched my back and Call put his arms around my waist and held me to him. I tangled my fingers in his hair. 

"Come up, come up," I said. He did as I asked and kissed me and then curved over my body, his face in the hollow of my neck, where I could feel his breaths across my collarbone.

"This is good," I said quietly, stroking his head, hands smoothing down the back of his neck and shoulders.

“It is,” Call agreed quietly.

"Call?"

"Yeah?"

I reached down and took his hand. Brought it up to my mouth and kissed his palm, licked his fingers. I felt his breathing quicken against my neck. I nibbled on the tender flesh of his wrist, traced the vein with my tongue up to his elbow. He smelled of soap and tasted like the air that came off the snow on a sunny winter's day. Call made a noise and moved against me. 

"Want me to stop?" I asked. 

"No," he whispered. I picked up his arm and knelt next to him. I nipped and licked my way up to his shoulder to his neck. He shuddered against me and gasped.

Up to Call's ear I went, teasing the outside with the tip of my tongue and then exploring the inside, breathing warmly into it. Call shivered again. "Aden." 

"Yes?" 

"Here," he took my hand and led it down to where he was hard. 

"Can -- can I touch you?" I asked. Call turned his head and looked at me, eyebrows raised. 

"Ain’t you done this before?"

"Yes, but there wasn't this amount of play.” My hand rested tentatively on him.

“You can play,” Call said. “Ain’t that the point?” 

He brought my hand up to his mouth and licked the palm and fingers, which tickled, and I fought down a nervous snicker. He closed my hand firmly around his shaft and moved it up and down. He felt like hot silk. 

"Like that," he said. 

I watched his face while doing this. Call stared back at me intently, and then closed his eyes, a look of strain and pleasure on his face. I found that I had a curious sense of control over his enjoyment as I varied the length or speed of my stroking him. Some elicited deep-throated moans and others a bucking of his hips and clenching his fingers into the bedclothes. I moved my hand faster on him, fascinated by how Call moved, until he gripped my wrist, stopping me. 

“Don’t want to finish yet,” Call said. He pulled me to him and kissed me, his tongue sliding against mine quickly and sweetly. Then he propped himself on his elbows and rose over me. I opened my legs and got ready for him. I felt him reach down and position himself, and then he rolled his hips, pushing into me. I inhaled sharply, flinching at the unaccustomed and sharp pain.

"You all right?" Call backed off. 

"Yes. Keep going. It's just been a while. Keep going, please." I put my arms around him.

"Just relax," Call kissed me and resumed pushing. I shifted my hips and suddenly he sank right into me. It felt like I had been holding my breath for a long time and could finally let it out in one long sigh of relief.

I twined my legs around Call's and lifted myself to him. This was the hunger I needed to sate, the closeness I required.

He began to move, and it was like the sun rising inside me. The feeling didn't abate but rose until I was lost in it, becoming as recklessly tossed as a teacup in a flood. I rocked against Call, clutching him around his sweat-slickened waist, moaning inarticulately. Call seemed as lost as I, entering me deeper and faster, his face inches from mine. I looked up at him, memorizing his expression. He opened his eyes and saw me, kissed me fiercely. "Aden," he said, as if he were anchoring himself to me.

"Come on, Call," I whispered. "More." And more he gave me, until I rose again, nearly weeping at the pleasure exploding inside of me, crying out Call's name. He replied as he came, repeating my name over and over again in a low, desperate tone. Until he slowed, then stopped, his forehead resting on my shoulder.

I stroked his back, feeling the sweat pooled in the dent of his spine. When his breathing quieted, he pulled out of me carefully and lay beside me. I sat up, reached through the window, and pushed one of the shutters open more widely. Then I lay down next to Call, unsure of whether I'd be allowed as physically close to him again. He answered that unspoken question by reaching over and pulling me to him, so my cheek rested on his shoulder.

"Thank you so much for this," I whispered.

Call stroked my hair. "Should be thanking _you_.”

He was so surprisingly gentle and open that I wanted to stay awake to enjoy it, but I couldn't. I fell asleep.

***

When I awoke the sunlight poured across my legs at an unfamiliar angle and my bedclothes were a mess. It was much later than I usually slept. I smelled food.

That last fact startled me so much that I leapt out of bed, snatched my robe on, and charged into the kitchen.

Call stood in front of the stove in his borrowed longjohns with a spatula in one hand and a mug in the other. He looked up, unperturbed, as I came flying into the room.

"Morning. You slept late," he said.

"I thought you'd left. What time is it?" I replied.

"Around 9 or so. You mind if I made some breakfast?"

"Not as long as you made enough for me," I smiled. Then realization struck me. "Nine! Oh, I’ve got to see to the stock! My poor cows..."

Call smiled. In fact, he looked altogether cheerful.

"What are you smiling about?" I asked.

"I had to see to the Hellbitch anyway, so I took care of your animals, too."

"You milked the cows?" I asked in disbelief.

He nodded.

"I don't know what to say. Thank you." I sat at the table. "How soon until we eat?"

"Not long." Call passed me a mug of coffee, which was strong and delicious, two things my coffee never seemed to achieve simultaneously. 

Next thing I knew a plate piled with eggs, bacon, pancakes and the best biscuits I'd ever had was set in front of me. For the next half hour I was blissfully absorbed in a well-cooked meal that I didn't have to make myself. When we finished I stacked the dishes in the little tub and turned to Call.

"I know you have to get back to town," I said. "I want to thank you for last night."

Call looked a little nervous, like I might say something he wasn't going to like.

"Do me a favor?" I asked.

"If I can."

"Be honest with Mattie. Don’t let her keep hoping for something that won’t ever happen.”

Call's expression shuttered. "What she wants is something I can't give her." 

"I know. But you should tell her. "

“I’ll try.”

Call put on his dry clothes as I pretended not to watch. When he was fully dressed again he headed out to the barn to saddle up the Hellbitch. I went out onto the porch.

It was a glorious morning. The sun was warm and kind on the earth, which looked none the worse for the storm it had weathered. Everything smelled newly-washed.

Call came around the house, leading the Hellbitch by her reins. He looked as awkward as I felt. He came up to me and took my hands.

"You can come back if you want," I said.

"Won't promise nothing. But I'd like that." He leaned down and kissed me gently on the lips. "Thank you again." 

Then he mounted and started off.

"Stop by the next time you need a bath!" I called after him. He wheeled, grinning, and waved. Then he galloped away. I went back inside the house and cleared up the breakfast things before starting my day.

***

Call hadn't been to see me in a while, but I started finding items suspended in the trees near my fields. They were just far away to leave the geese undisturbed but close enough for me to discover before too long.

I would find a haunch of venison or a sack of fresh blueberries. In return, I’d leave a small basket of preserves or candles I’d made. It was oddly considerate, and respectful of the way we lived our lives. 

When Call decided to see me again, I'd be happy to welcome him. He knew that. We understood one another.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was probably 30 or 31 when I wrote this, and I freely admit that it, and the subsequent tales in the series, has more than a small element of Marysue about it. I was mainly intrigued by what kind of woman would be able to stop Call in his downward spiral of self-hatred and self-destruction, since Mattie was not going to save him through the redemptive power of lurve. Aden is probably the personification of the heroine I wish I could have been when I wrote this story. 
> 
> This story is dedicated to the ladies of the Lonesome Dove mailing lists that were on Yahoo! back in the day, and the wonderful community they created. 
> 
> All love to [tryxchange](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tryxchange) for encouragement and being willing to read these at all.


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